


Serendipities and Details (I had a song called danger)

by LightningFB1



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: :), F/F, Gay Disaster Beauregard (Critical Role), Gay Disaster Yasha (Critical Role), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Unstoppable Force meets an Immovable Object, they're iconic lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningFB1/pseuds/LightningFB1
Summary: It’s something to be grateful for. The fact that Yasha has a habit of delving too deep in her thoughts, her instincts, her feelings, and pays little attention to the world around her.





	Serendipities and Details (I had a song called danger)

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write self-indulging Beauyasha. Sue me. 
> 
> It is my headcanon that Beau learns things to impress Yasha but never gets to actually do it the way it’s planned because she’s a hecking disaster and I went with the most obvious one here. There will be more cause I can’t help myself.
> 
> Just a skit, barely fanfiction. Hope you enjoy.

It’s during second watch, well into the night. They’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, rain pouring down and thunder rumbling too close for comfort. The sounds of the storm are so loud they have to yell at each other to be heard, the clank of metal against metal and the roar of magic flames drowning their voices and the cries of the falling and retreating figures around them.

Beauregard tries to focus, making use of all of her training, forces her eyes away from the blurry image of Yasha cleaving through a brigand like he’s made out of butter.

Yasha is blissfully unaware.

It doesn’t help that this is the first night after a long, long month of Yasha being away. Beauregard basks in her presence whenever she’s blessed with it, feels safer with her there than it’s probably wise to. The aasimar looks untouchable like this, prey to the addicting sensation of the rage coursing through her veins, fueling her movements and guiding the Magician’s Judge deep into some other bandit’s gut. The rush of adrenaline makes her whole body sing, muscles taut and pupils blown, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips when the thud of yet another body is lost to the growl of the tempest overhead.

It’s a sight to behold, but Beauregard shakes her head and turns, tapping the end of her bo against a sensitive spot on the lower back of a woman wilding dual daggers. The stranger sinks to her knees like a puppet whose strings have been severed, gasping for air.

They are used to this. Front line combat together. Since the very beginning, they’ve had this weird sort of synergism and they’ve become lethal with time and practice. Usually, they fight close to one another and turn into an unbreakable barrier, protectors and sentinels. The communication is easy, fluid, their bodies speak a language that’s primordial, instinctual. It takes no effort to understand the meaning behind a movement or a stance and that’s what makes them deadly, because they don’t need to talk. Because why waste precious time. Because they are women of action and it shows clearly in the battlefield.

They have no such luck this time, the ambush has left them divided and they can barely see each other through the curtain of rain. They need their words and they need them loud.

“Yash! _Behind you_!”

Maybe it’s dumb luck, or maybe Kord wouldn’t risk such a devoted worshiper as Yasha, but the skies keep quiet for those invaluable seconds and Beauregard hears Yasha roar. It’s followed by the sickening sound of flesh being carved through. The man once sneaking towards Yasha is now a lump on the ground. Lightning lights up the night sky. Beauregard sees his unfocused eyes and broken body, but Yasha ignores it, already moving towards the next target.

It’s something to be grateful for. The fact that Yasha has a habit of delving too deep in her thoughts, her instincts, her feelings, and pays little attention to the world around her.

Beau is personally appreciative of that because there would be no explaining many of the looks the monk sends her way at times. Curiosity or amusement are innocent enough. Lust, that could put her in a more compromising position, but she’s Beauregard and those who know her expect that from her already, so she could get away with it. Sometimes it’s unadulterated adoration of a kind that would put Jester’s speeches about the Traveler to shame and if Yasha ever noticed those, Beau would be utterly terrified.

Her friends notice, of course.

Caduceus is a force to be reckoned when it comes to catching her slip ups, but he’s the most respectful of the bunch of assholes she’s come consider her chosen family. Jester, Caleb and Fjord know too much not notice and they would bring them up at first, but now they’re wise enough to avoid the topic altogether after a few complicated confrontations. Nott, if she notices, decides to let go of it because they’ve had to deal with a grumpier-than-usual-Beau and nobody benefits from it. Clever girl.

Unavoidable, comes the thought. The hell Molly would put her through if he was here. It actually makes her smile even when the pang of pain hits her. The ache, she has come to learn, feels now dulled but will never entirely go away.

Right now, Beauregard considers while she parries a sword and her bo groans in protest, in the frenzy of battle and doing this thing she usually does where she runs her mouth without fucking thinking, she’s more grateful than ever for Yasha’s distinctive obliviousness.

This is the first time Celestial has slipped past her lips in the presence of another being since she learned enough of it to speak it out loud. This could have been catastrophic, if Yasha would have noticed. If anyone would have—

Caleb’s attention, Beauregard can tell as she kicks the sword away from the body at her feet, is fixated upon her.

The myriad of emotions hit her immediately; embarrassment at being caught red handed, fear at being confronted again, frustration at having no answer for the questions to come, resignation because this won’t be the last time this happens. It was happening way too often as of late and she just can’t help it.

Ultimately, Beauregard settles for containing the urge to groan and faceplant the ground and lay there forever. Just keep fighting, keep punching, keep dodging. Priorities. Stay alive.

The battle is over too soon.

Beauregard thinks of avoiding Caleb, but that would be a stupid move when they could still be being tailed by vengeful criminals who want them dead. Caleb is, in Nott’s words, very smart. He doesn’t utter a word about it. He keeps his mouth shut and Beauregard is so grateful she gives his shoulder a soft bump when she walks by him. Immediately regretting it when she catches his knowing eyes and this time, she does groan and rolls hers.

 

* * *

  

This is the first time it happens, and Yasha doesn’t notice until days after.

It comes to her, as it usually does, in a dream. A pretty vivid one, too. They’re sitting by a campfire, Beauregard and her. The monk is rambling, nothing new, but Yasha is mesmerized by it. She knows the words, broken as they sound, and they reach and pull somewhere deep inside of her. They make her feel nostalgic.

Beau grins goofily and the feeling dissipates as soon as it comes and Yasha wakes with a start.

Caleb is at her side going through a thick volume. It’s a quiet night and the stars are visible on the black canvas above; the cold autumn breeze can’t bother them while they stay inside the hut and the glowing orb above the wizard provides more than enough light to read. It makes him look eerily older and wiser, Yasha thinks. She tries to shake off the sensation left behind by the dream and stares blankly at Caleb, who is now staring back at her.

Everyone else is asleep, Frumpkin patrolling the area.

“Caleb, does— Did Beauregard—What languages does she speak?”

Yasha whispers, only for him to hear. Caleb mutters something in Zemnian and shakes his head, patting Yasha’s knee before going back to his book. It feels condescending and she’s about to say so, but he gives an unusual warm smile and speaks then, eyes still trained on the page.

“You should probably ask her in the morning,” is all he answers.

There are many battles Yasha has fought and won during her time with the Nein, and one that’s become impossible. While she lies there, pretending to rest, Yasha is glad Beauregard sleeps like a rock because her eyes drift towards her one too many times before the sun rises.

Beauregard, thank the Stormlord, is blissfully unaware.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry for any mistakes, I didn't check it and this is unbeta'd because I decided I wanted to post at 4 am.  
> Kudos and comments mean the world, even if it's to tell me I butchered the english language. It's fiiiiiine.
> 
> Also, come talk to me! I'm always happy to meet new critters. Or give me prompts, I will keep writing about these two because ugh fictional lesbians will ruin my life, I have no self-control.
> 
> Tumblr: gaymessonmain


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